Masters of French Music

by Arthur Hervey

AMBROISE THOMAS

IT has become a trite saying that music is the youngest of the arts. The truth of this is nevertheless indisputable, and the remark is perhaps more applicable to music as represented in the "lyrical drama" than in any other form. What pleases one generation is often distasteful to the next, and a period of twenty or even ten years has sometimes been sufficient to witness a thorough evolution in the methods and general style of dramatic music.

The career of the composer whose name heads this chapter is, from this point of view, interesting to study, and a cursory glance at the state of musical affairs at the time when he emerged from the Paris Conservatoire, having won the "Grand Prix de Rome," will not be out of place, and may help towards forming a more accurate estimate of his talent.

Every art has traversed a period of degeneration, when true æsthetics have been neglected and men of undoubted talent, or even genius, have been unable to free themselves from the shackles of a vitiated taste. This applies, perhaps, more to music than to any other art, probably for the reason that in this case the demand upon the intellect is proportionately greater, and a certain degree of culture is absolutely necessary for its due appreciation. There is a semblance of truth in the contention advanced by Rubinstein, that music is the reflex of its time, and even re-echoes the political events and general state of culture of the age. The following paradoxical opinion of the eminent Russian composer and pianist, taken from his "Conversation on Music,"[1] is well worth quoting in extenso: "I can follow musically even the events of our century. Our century begins either with 1789, the French Revolution (musically with Beethoven), or the year 1815 is to be looked upon as the close of the eighteenth century, disappearance of Napoleon from the political horizon, the Restoration, &c. (musically the scholastic-virtuoso period: Hummel, Moscheles, and others); flourish of modern philosophy (third period of Beethoven); the July Revolution of 1830, fall of the Legitimists, raising the son of Philippe Egalité to the throne, the Orleans dynasty, democratic and constitutional principle in the foreground, monarchical principle in the background, 1848 in sight (Berlioz); the Æolian harp of the Polish rebellion of 1831 (Chopin); romanticism generally and its victory over the pseudo-classic (Schumann); flourish of all the arts and sciences (Mendelssohn); the triumph of the bourgeoisie, in sense of material existence, a shield against all disturbing elements of politics and culture (Capellmeister music); Louis Napoleon becomes Emperor (Liszt, the virtuoso, becomes the composer of symphonies and oratorios); his reign (the operetta a branch of art); the German-Franco war, Germany's unity, the freedom of Europe resting on ten millions of soldiers, change in all formerly accepted political principles (Wagner, his music-drama, his art principles, &c.)."

We are able with a tolerable degree of certainty to determine the period when a house was built by the style of its architecture, just as we experience no difficulty, as a rule, in discovering the date when a picture was painted through details that unmistakably reveal the epoch when the artist lived, even if the subject he may have chosen to illustrate be ever so remote. The well-known picture by Paul Veronese of the "Marriage Feast of Cana" is a case in point.

In respect to music, a similar law would appear to govern its manifestations, and special characteristics are associated with the productions of different epochs. This is made evident by the non-success that attends the composer whose genius impels him onward towards new and unknown horizons. Woe be to the one who has the temerity to forestall his own generation. Although immortality and a tardy homage to his memory may be his reward, these will perhaps scarcely afford compensation for the trials and hardships endured whilst battling for sheer existence in this vale of tears. It is a moot consideration whether the wisest course to adopt is that followed by Hector Berlioz, or the one that has brought prosperity as well as celebrity to Ambroise Thomas; for whereas the former may result in post-mortem panegyrics, the latter procures a more immediate recompense, and may lead to the directorship of the Paris Conservatoire.

There is something inexpressibly sad in the evanescence of music, and in thinking of the comparatively small number of compositions destined to survive their age. In this respect music is at a decided disadvantage in comparison with the sister arts; the fact of the former being essentially creative possibly accounting in some measure for this. At any rate, whereas masterpieces of classic art, such as "The Dying Gladiator" and the "Apollo Belvedere" remain unrivalled and do not betray a vestige of their antiquity, much of the music composed fifty years ago has become so hopelessly old-fashioned that it can scarcely be listened to with patience.

Is it that in this special case familiarity breeds a larger dose of contempt than usual? The fact has been proved over and over again, that compositions that seem absolutely incomprehensible to one generation, are accepted as comparatively simple by the next; whereas those that have caught on with the public at once very soon lose their hold.

The great test of an art work, as such, is its truth of expression. The moment this is wanting, its value diminishes, and it is powerless to survive the caprice of fashion.

Thus we find that those works into which composers have poured their innermost feelings, untrammelled by any desire to purchase an ephemeral popularity at the cost of the sacrifice of principle, are those that have remained. This is so much the case with stage works that it is necessary to state it definitely before proceeding any further.